A Dozen Roses
by ilovemythoroughbred
Summary: Lucy - Skillet song fic. Gale's life has come to crumbles after the day of the parachutes. Written from Gale's point of view — one shot.


_Hey Lucy, I remember your name  
__I left a dozen roses on your grave today  
__I'm in the grass on my knees, wipe the leaves away  
__I just came to talk for a while, got some things I need to say_

The autumn wind is barely a presence in the graveyard that evening, no more than the leaves that are scattered across the ground. Calling it a graveyard is a stretch. It's no more than a pile of dirt, thoughtfully tossed onto a mound of dead bodies. You'd think being the sister of the Girl on Fire herself would at least land her somewhere a little nicer, but a death is a death in a war zone. No more, no less.

I roll the rose between my fingers. The evening primrose was the same color of the moon, which hung half above the trees, winking in the way the moon does, just shy of a full moon. I tried to pick the richest rose I could find, as I walked by _their_ home. Someone — him, probably — had planted a perfect row of primroses. They were an easy enough pick as I crossed town that eerie night.

The grass is crunchy beneath my feet, dried brown by the autumn sun. It's been a hot summer and a steamy autumn, which does nothing for the crop fields that fill the space where the mines used to be. Even the mouth of the mines has been used as a farmer's stand.

My knees buckle when I reach the pile. Nobody even thought to put up any marker, any stone with any names. No thank you, no acknowledgement. But, everyone knows this place. The children never venture into the meadow to play, and the animals never graze on the grass. Everyone knows … this is a sacred place.

I brush away the long grasses, which snap under my scarred fingers. Katniss' fingers have been made over so many times by the Capitol, her manicured hands bear no resemblance to the hands that slid across the bow, bringing down kill after animal. The hands that tenderly brought up every herb, healed every wound. They bear no resemblance to the hands of monsters that I find at the end of my wrists, scarred and calloused, bloodied and cut.

But, it's not my hands that I will communicate with. "Prim," I whisper, through the dry breeze. "I've got some things I need to say."

_Now that it's over, I just wanna hold her  
__I'd give up all the world to see  
__That little piece of heaven looking back at me_

The last time I saw Katniss, she told me she still saw her little duck. Still saw her walking home from school, or arranging herbs in the apothecary. And after that, I swore that I saw her, too. She was my little duck, too, and perhaps, Rory's as well.

But, there is nothing left to her but dust and ashes. I dig my fingers into the dirt, letting the primrose fall to the grass. I feel the grit collect under my fingernails, but I begin to dig. I scoop the dirt, the sand, the incomprehensible amount of ash away, clawing at the rocks and grass roots. "Oh, Prim," I murmur as I finally pull my hands back into my lap. My eyes begin to get wet, and I drop my head.

"_Why_?" I choke out, pressing my palms back against the dirt. "I'm so sorry, little duck, I'm so sorry," but nobody hears my words besides the lonely moon.

_Hey Lucy, I remembered your birthday  
__They said it'd bring some closure to say your name  
__I know I'd do it all different if I had the chance  
__But all I got are these roses to give  
__And they can't help me make amends_

I begin to come to the empty hill religiously every night. Soon, they will notice their evening primrose bushes growing less by a single rose each night, but for now, it is my only routine. I tighten the grip of the rose in my hand, barely feeling the thorns against the rough skin of my palm.

"Prim," I whisper again. The breeze catches it, pulling it away from me. Maybe it will bring it to her, six feet under. Or maybe it will bring it to _her_, six feet above, in the warm arms of a boy who loved her and had the will to tell her.

What if I hadn't come up with that bomb? What if I had decided to wait? What if I had checked, and checked, and checked, to make sure Prim wouldn't be there? What if I had been more careful?

I pause briefly by the rock that Katniss and I used to meet at each Sunday. Each time I rig a snare, bring down an animal, I feel another death on my conscious, another scratch on my slate. I soon stop hunting altogether, which is fine enough since I rarely feel anything besides guilt anymore.

I kneel at the top of the hill, where the prints from my knees have worn into the dirt. I crouch down, pressing my forehead to the ground. "Happy birthday, Primrose," I breathe. "You know you meant the world to everyone who knew you."

I tuck the rose under the sand, removing the one from the previous night. For some reason, I find it necessary to replace the rose by moonlight each night. Come rain, snow or sleet, I give a rose to a dead girl every time the clock strikes twelve.

_Now that it's over, I just wanna hold her  
__I'd give up all the world to see  
__That little piece of heaven looking back at me_

"I'm sorry. You deserved so much more then the life you were given, and the life I was careless enough to take. You know that I would never have done if I had known you were there. It gives no comfort to know you died in the name of freedom, because it should have been me, a _killer_, who died to free everyone else," I dig my teeth into my lip as my eyes well shut with tears. "I am so, so sorry, Prim."

I beat my fists against the ground. "You deserve so much more than what I did. You don't deserve to tread the same ground I do," I clench my eyes shut, which does no more then leave me in the darkness I deserve.

"I would do absolutely anything to bring you back," I continue. I bring my hands to my ears, covering them as I let out a scream. "I can't believe I was so careless! Damn it, _why_?"

_Now that it's over, I just wanna hold her  
__I've gotta live with the choices I made  
__And I can't live with myself today_

"It was me!" I bellow. "It was me! It was my fault!" I let out a gut wrenching scream as my stomach contracts, breaking my words into sobs and frail cries.

"I did it to you, Prim," I wail. I slam my fists back into the ground, pounding till my hands are brown from dust and blue from bruise. "I killed you! I killed you. I killed you …"

I feel sick. I _am_ sick. I will live forever with a sickening nausea in my stomach, a hammering headache, a general feel of miserableness. It haunts me, weighs each step and action and word. And I deserve it — I deserve so much more than just this — but, being killed would be too easy. It would let me off.

If I had to live forever like this, homeless, friendless, sick, I would, if it meant Prim could live.

Sometimes when I meet the gaze of other people in town, I feel them pitying me. Pitying the poor boy who killed his lover's sister. But, when I look at the lone noose, hanging mysteriously in a tree of the forest, I don't feel the urge to take my own life. That would be too easy. It's a way out of what I deserve, but I've already cheated enough in life.

_Here we are, now you're in my arms  
__I never wanted anything so bad  
__Here we are for a brand new start  
__Living the life that we could've had_

I'm in another world, now, and Prim is there. She's in her reaping outfit, the tails of her shirt untucked and trailing in the breeze. "Gale!" she chirps as she rushes towards me. I squint my eyes, confused, but open my arms nonetheless.

"Hey, little bird," I laugh, though I'm not controlling my own actions. "Seen Catnip around lately?"

"She was looking for you earlier," Prim says surely, in my arms. "Look!" she suddenly says, now hoisted up on my shoulders.

I follow her arm till I see what she's pointing at. A mockingjay dives through the air, perching upon a branch where it lets out a beautiful tune. "A mockingjay," I breathe.

"They stop and listen whenever my father or Katniss sings," Prim whispers.

I nod, smiling as I secure my fingers around her legs, draped across my shoulders. "You try, little bird. I'm sure they'll listen for you, as well."

"I don't know …" she trails off, bumping her heels into my chest.

"Just try," I say. "It's just me and you here."

"_Are you, are you, coming to the tree _. . ."she begins. She sounds just as melodic as her sister and her father. Her voice is like honey, but even more pure and sweet.

"_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three_," I join in, but I'm not sure why. I've never been much of a singer, never one for music either way, but I find myself trying to match the notes.

"_Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,_" we continue, facing the bird.

"_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_," and when we finish, the mockingjay tilts it's little bird beak right at us, and sings back a tune sweeter than anything I've ever heard.

_Here we are, now you're in my arms  
__I never wanted anything so bad  
__Here we are for a brand new start  
__Living the life we could've had_

"Don't you want to see Katniss, Gale?" Prim asks, her little dainty fingers wrapped around my chin, as her own rests on my head.

"No, little bird, I'm here to see you," I reply without thinking.

I swear I can hear the little girl smile. "I know."

_Me and Lucy walking hand in hand  
__Me and Lucy never wanna end  
__Just another moment in your eyes  
__I'll see you in another life in heaven  
__Where we never say goodbye_

Still, Prim is with me. But now, we are in the meadow, her meadow, her final resting place, her pale hand in mine as we make our way to the bushes. "What's your favorite berry, Prim?"

"Oh, I like blackberries the best," she says.

I chuckle, the same I might give to Katniss. "Let's go, then, I know a place where they're more juicy then you've ever tasted."

Prim breaks into a run, and I feel a smile warming my face, the sun warming a cold, shadowed land. "Race you!" she calls over her shoulder. For a wisp of thing, she's quick and sly, and reaches the lush bushes before I do. But, before I can reach her, she reaches for the biggest, jet black berry on the bush.

I can taste the rich berry on my tongue, when I realize it's nightlock.

"Prim! _No!_"

_Now that it's over, I just wanna hold her  
__I've gotta live with the choices I mad  
__And I can't live with myself today_

My heart is threatening to beat right out of my chest, when I find myself awake. The earth is tragically black, and no matter how much I search around, I can't find my little bird anywhere. "Prim! Prim! Where are you?" I scream, clutching at my chest as my heart speeds up. Where is she?

_Here we are, now you're in my arms  
__Here we are for a brand new start  
__I got to live with the choices I made  
__And I can't live with myself today_

But, she's back in my view. She's there, she's alive, her blue eyes shining back at me. "What?" she asks, rolling the berry in her palm.

_Me and Lucy walking hand in hand  
__Me and Lucy never wanna end  
__I've got to live with the choices I've made  
__And I can't live with myself today_

"That's nightlock!" I holler, as I try to run the last feet to her.

_Hey Lucy, I remember your name_

But, when I've finally reached her, she is laying on the ground. A little bird, fallen.


End file.
